In odyssey, Greek wasn't their hero
NEW YORK -- Phantasmagorical. In a word, that's what it was.
Homer, the old Greek scribbler, would have relished this 3-hour-48-minute rewrite of his ``Odyssey." Though only a tennis match, the wandering of two combatants called Andre and Marcos through a variety of perils along the treacherous way to the third round of the US Open was high melodrama in five acts that seduced countless viewers. They watched across the globe via the electronic Cyclops, TV, or were eyewitnesses in the amphitheater honoring an earlier battler, Arthur Ashe.
Those in the immediate Flushing Meadows audience formed a Greek chorus of 23,736 voices -- but they were not there to praise the young Greek Cypriot , Marcos Baghdatis. Far from it. Their hero was the ancient one, a wielder of a gut-strung scepter, the Armenian-blooded Andre Agassi. They let Baghdatis know it every sneakered step of the way from Thursday night into yesterday morning.
Such a loud and raucous clamor of feverish adulation and hero worship hadn't been raised here since 1991, when another beloved ancient, James Scott Connors, 39, was bashing his way improbably to the semifinals. Jimmy, like 36-year-old Andre, was a midnight man, forcing his foes to toil -- fruitlessly -- from one day into the next, winding up the faithful like cuckoo clocks.
But at the juncture of midnight, the chorus was wary and worried because the Greek had just struck one of his 23 aces and another of his 12 service winners to pull even, 3-3, in the climactic fifth act. Baghdatis, the bearded belter, seemed the killjoy who would take down Agassi like the whirlpool, Charybdis, that threatened Homer's main man, Odysseus.
The beguiling nail-biter, twisting and turning like Charybdis, and changing directions often, suspensefully lurched toward Baghdatis three games before the curtain. He was one point from virtual victory four times. But the Greek gods -- Zeus & Co. -- must, curiously, have turned their eyes away from Baghdatis and gleamingly onto Agassi, the triumphant: 6-4, 6-4, 3-6, 5-7, 7-5.
How else could anyone explain that what began as a runaway for last-gasping Agassi, the goodbye guy, almost went instead to the wounded Greek. Baghdatis had collapsed on the court in the fifth and writhed with a cramped left leg, but kept fighting and firing incredibly.
``I would have died out there to win," he said .
It was a win to die for, all right. And once the gallant No. 8, Baghdatis, had been safely put away, extending Agassi's announced farewell performance by at least one more gig, he was rightfully embraced by the chorus for his fortitude, and making it a shoot-'em-up-with-rackets worthy of Homer.
Homer, fond of the Greek warrior Achilles (he of the famed vulnerable heel), might have put Andre and Marcos in the same class: Achilles' back and left thigh, respectively. Throw in a damaged left wrist for Baghdatis that needed medical attention after a tumble in the second act.
While those gods can't fix Agassi's aching back, they may be giving him a meteorological bonus with an expected rainout today. Hobbling away from the ballpark, and probably unable to get out of bed yesterday, he would welcome moisture and an extra day's rest before taking on a familiar name in the third round. That's B. Becker from Germany -- No. 112, qualifier Benjamin, not a bygone tough rival, Boris. Should Agassi keep going, it's likely Andy Roddick in the last 16.
Lighting up the full house, Andre and Marcos's zinging shotmaking glittered and made the place feel like one of those championship prizefights that used to be staged in baseball parks. Superior experience gave Agassi, giving away 15 years to the Australian Open finalist and Wimbledon semifinalist, a slight edge. It looked like he would downsize it to three acts on holding two break points at 3-3, 15-40. However, Baghdatis, getting over his feeling of being alone in the enemy camp, escaped and seized the third. Then he fell behind, 0-4, in the fourth.
Marcos pulled an ``Andre" out of his white bandeau. Agassi, also trailing, 0-4, in the third set of his first-rounder, had surged past Andrei Pavel and past midnight.
Baghdatis did the same. Then he broke Agassi in the opening game of the fifth as the chorus lapsed into morbid silence, as though submerged in Homer's wine dark sea. Nevertheless, Agassi revived to break right back. And so did the chorus when he held to 2-1, some of the screamers actually dancing in the aisles, sure again that the gods were in their corner.
Too soon to rejoice. Baghdatis clung, a leech to 4-4, a prelude to his malady, cramps, in the determining ninth game. Even though Baghdatis could hardly stand, he was as dangerous as a hurt lion. Agassi, serving, was too anxious to get it over with and couldn't deal with the afflicted man.
They fought that campaign for 13 heart-stopping minutes, to 5-4 through eight deuces and four break points -- any breaker surely making it Baghdatis's cake. The second was his . . . but, staggering, he couldn't put a winning volley in the court.
Baghdatis ducked a match point in the next game to 5-5. But Agassi was too resolved two games later, repelling four game points, forcing three deuces, and inducing a tumultuous roar from his people as Baghdatis knocked a match-point backhand over the baseline.
It was Agassi's 17th match of the year (10-7), but his departure has been postponed a bit. Maybe not the greatest of US Open jewels, but it was in a class by itself in emotion and the old man's desire and struggle to be vital and relevant as a champion right to the end.
